The Impact of Three Little Words
by Sammie050301
Summary: Sherlock says it once: It doesn't mean a thing. He says it twice, and it means everything, and maybe... just maybe... there was something there. Too bad Molly seemingly moved on. Sherlock can't seem to think, John is still grieving over Mary, and Mycroft is dealing with the consequences of his actions. (Takes Place after the Final Problem) -Eventual Sherlolly-
1. When They Said, I Love You

A/N: Hello. This is my very first Sherlock fanfiction, so please be gentle :-) I've always been fascinated by Sherlock and Molly's relationship and how it's grown, and I feel like we never really got closure on what happened after that interaction between Molly and Sherlock during the Final Problem. This takes place after Season 4, and since we don't know whether or not if we get Season 5, I've let my imagination wander a bit.

Reviews are better than ice cream, constructive criticism appreciated.

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**Chapter 1- When They Said, "I Love You."**

"You're not allowed to mention in any way that her life is in danger. You may not – at any point – suggest that there is any form of crisis. If you do, I will end this session and her life. Are we clear?" Eurus' voice is so practical... so logical and calm, without a hint of insanity, and all the normalcy. However, the problem was that showed just how _insane_ she was. There were explosives in Molly's apartment building she planted, she said. In order to stop this from happening, he deduced that Molly had to say three little words. There was a time limit - three little minutes.

The voice of Moriarty making ticking noises in the background, meant to agitate Sherlock, was beginning to work. Sherlock was waiting - not so patiently - for Molly to pick up her phone. Sherlock watches Molly through the camera, noticing that she wasn't doing just that. How she looked drained, tired, exhausted... sad? It wasn't the Molly he knew, that's for sure. There were dark circles under her eyes, her eyes red like she had been crying.

A minute had almost passed, and Molly wasn't answering Sherlock.

This only baffled him further. "What's she doing?"

"She's making tea," Mycroft says casually.

"Yes, but why isn't she answering her phone?" Sherlock said, annoyed that his brother stated the obvious.

"You never answer your phone," John pointed out.

"Yes, but it's _me_ calling." The way Sherlock says this, he almost sounds anxious. Perhaps it was jealousy...? A hint of protectiveness? A sense of entitlement? He didn't know, and what he didn't know, he didn't like. His stomach began more unsettled than ever before. The sound of Molly's voicemail echoes through the room, and that makes not only Sherlock worried more, but also John and Mycroft, there was time being lost. Molly continued to make her tea.

Eurus, of course, found this all comical. "Okay, okay. Just one more time." The phone begins to ring again, a second call being made. Sherlock watched apprehensively at the screen as her phone continued to ring. Suddenly, Sherlock kept his head down to the floor, almost like he was praying for her to pick up. But this was Sherlock Holmes... Sherlock didn't _pray_. He didn't see Molly look incredibly flustered and annoyed, finally setting her things down before reaching for her phone. She paused, contemplating, knowing she was going to regret this phone call.

"Hello, Sherlock." Sherlock's head instantly snapped up as she continued. "Is this urgent because I'm not really having a good day." Yes, obviously. Sherlock found himself wanting to ask what was wrong, and how he probably could've deduced what was wrong, but now was not the time. Her life was at stake, wasn't it?

"Molly, I just want you to do something very easy for me and not ask why."

Molly was not amused. "Oh, God, is this one of your stupid games?" He pretended not to be phased by this; he would never admit how deeply hurt he was by that statement. It made him actually wonder how far he has hurt her in the past... that maybe John was right, that he should be nicer considering she's been nothing but kind to him. His stomach dropped more, but he wouldn't let this get to him, he couldn't. He _had_ to be practical.

"No, it's not a game, and I need you to help me."

"But I'm not at the lab."

Sherlock's frown deepened. "No, it's not about that." God, John was right.

Molly seemed to hesitate again, before saying: "Well, quickly then." She waited, and normally Sherlock was quick. She didn't see that Sherlock was having trouble containing himself. With the lack of answer, Molly sighed. "Sherlock... what is it? What do you want?" Sherlock was feeling more and more pressure from Moriarty's ticking noises, edging their way into his brain, like an ear worm.

"Molly, please," His voice quivers ever so slightly. "-without asking why, just say these words."

She's a little inquisitive now, a small grin lit up her face. "What words?"

He says those three little words, very stoically. "'I love you.'"

Her grin immediately vanishes, getting ready to hang up. A small sniffle escapes. "Leave me alone."

"Molly, no, please, no, don't hang up! Do _not_ hang up!" His voice is on edge, on the verge of panicking. They all take notice, including himself, surprising _himself_.

"Calmly Sherlock, or I will finish her right now," Eurus' voice was making this worse, talking to him as if he were a child.

"Why are you doing this to me?" Molly snapped. "Why are you making fun of me?"

"Please, I swear, you have to listen to me." If Sherlock wasn't losing control, he would've stopped and chastised himself for saying please. But did he really care?

Eurus smirked. "Softer, Sherlock."

He complies, trying to be in control. "Molly, this is for a case. It's sort of an experiment."

A tear slips down from her cheek. "I'm not an experiment, Sherlock."

His eyes go wide with fear, there was no use hiding it. "No, I know you're not an experiment, you're my friend." Sherlock had realized that damage he had done, and what he didn't know then, was how much more he was doing. "We're friends... But-" He paused, he noticed his heart skipped a beat. "Please, just say those words to me."

"Please don't do this... Just... Don't do it," she nearly begged him.

"It's very important, but I can't say why." It was more important than he ever knew. "But I promise you, it is." Time was going by faster and faster.

"I can't say that. I can't... I can't say that to _you_." That little emphasis on the word 'you' should've made Sherlock realize how personal this was.

Sherlock, however, was still baffled as he looked at the screen. "Of course you can, why can't you?"

"_You know why._"

"No, I don't know why."

Molly sighed, sniffling again. "Of course you do." Can't Moriarty_ shut up_?! That ticking noise was driving him to the point of screaming.

Sherlock shut his eyes in stress... almost looking a bit frightened. "Please, just say it."

"I can't. Not to you."

"Why?"

"Because it's..." Here it comes. "Because it's _true_, Sherlock. It's always been true." When Molly had revealed something everyone but Sherlock himself knew, he didn't know what to think. He... felt something different. He... felt something he never felt before. He didn't like it one bit. So, he takes the more insensitive approach.

"If it's true, just say it anyway."

Molly chuckled, but not like she liked something Sherlock said, it was because of how cruelly he worded things, how he completely disregarded her feelings, it seemed. "You bastard."

"Say it anyway," he insisted, though he took her words close to heart.

Then, she says something Sherlock, nor anyone else expected her to. "You say it. Go on. You say it first."

He was thrown off guard. "_What_?"

"_Say it_," she pressed. "Say it like you mean it."

Sherlock's face was struck with fear. He hadn't said anything like that to anyone, _ever_. It seemed like everyone else listening in was shocked as well.

"Final thirty seconds," Eurus reminded them, as they watched the number get smaller.

"I..." Sherlock paused, trying to gain some composure. Molly clutched onto the phone tightly as she closed her eyes. "_I love you_." Sherlock says this once, it doesn't mean a thing. Molly waits, thinking intensely. Sherlock hears the sound of his heavy breathing. His eyes close, his mind racing at the speed of light of all his moments he spent with Molly, the thought that she might not say it back, that she would die... and that... he'd never see _her_ again. Was he anxious because she would die, or perhaps, was he anxious of her rejecting him? And Sherlock found himself realizing, it would be both.

"I love you," he says, this time more softly as he really looked at her. He says it twice, and it means everything, and maybe... just maybe... there was something there.

Molly sighs, thinking clearly, her eyes shut in pain. Time was running out...

"Molly," he says urgently, looking at the time. His eyes wide with panic. "Molly, _please_." She's still hesitating, but what she was also doing was treasuring the fact that Sherlock Holmes had said it to her, even if it was for experimental purposes.

But it wasn't for a case anymore, wasn't it? Sherlock realized it was now personal. Her voice says, shaking: "I love you."

The timer stops, with only two seconds remaining. Sherlock heaved out a sigh of relief, and the phone call ended. The look on Mycroft's face said it all. He had realized it too, when Sherlock said those three little words a second time, that it _meant_ something. "Sherlock, however hard that was..."

"Euros, I won, I won," said Sherlock aloud, completely ignoring his brother. His voice was worn out, sounding very different. Did he really win? Eurus looked on with a look of amazement, finding the study of Sherlock Holmes interesting. "Come on, play fair. The girl on the plane I need to talk to her."

Beat.

"I won. I saved Molly Hooper," Sherlock reasoned.

Eurus scoffed. "Saved her?" She said sarcastically. "From what? Oh, do be sensible. There were no explosives in her little house. Why would I be so clumsy?" It dawned on Sherlock, that he didn't have to say anything, but he realized, his feelings were out in the open. He couldn't have that... he- "You didn't win, you lost," Eurus corrected. "Look what you did to her." It hit his chest like a gunshot wound. "Look what you did to yourself." Sherlock looked away, walking and placing the gun by the coffin as his sister continued. "All those complicated little emotions, I lost count."

He felt the blood course through his veins.

"Emotional context, Sherlock. It destroys you every time." His eyes were filled with vengeance for not only Eurus, but for himself. " Now, please, pull yourself together. I need you at peak efficiency. The next one isn't going to be so easy." A slide door opens, and Mycroft looks at it momentarily before his eyes go back to his brother, with them radiating in concern. "In your own time," Eurus added.

Sherlock walked slowly to the back of the room to place the top of the coffin onto it. He stares at it, it could've been Molly... She could've... He didn't have to say he loved her... because he _couldn't_. Mycroft and John watch in concern as Sherlock continues to stare at it. His hand runs across the coffin. Molly could've died, kept repeating in his head. Saying those three damn words took a lot, he was shaking. He was hurting, and now, he dragged someone down with him. This wasn't the first time, but it was the first time he didn't mean to. And it was for the first time, out of his control.

"Sherlock," says John, worried on why his friend wasn't moving.

Enough was enough. "No..." Sherlock says lowly, and it doesn't mean anything at first. But then, he says it a second time, "No!" Sherlock slammed his fist into the coffin, grunting and screaming in agony as he felt too many things at once that he never wanted to feel. He destroys the coffin with all his strength. All Mycroft and John could do was watch as Sherlock broke down, out of his control. Times like this brought Mycroft back to when Sherlock was an emotional child, throwing tantrums and screaming in fear. He took no pleasure from the fact. Sherlock let out one final scream, before slipping to the floor.

It's amazing how three little words could do so much.


	2. A Study in Love

A/N: Hello! Thank you to those who reviewed, favorited, and followed this story. This is my first Sherlock story, so I'm glad to receive any sort of criticism about this story. Feel free to review to let me know how this story is going. It could be good or bad. Thank you guys :) On to chapter two, I hope you guys like it.

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**Chapter 2- A Study in Love**

Sherlock Holmes did not believe in love.

Molly Hooper _did_.

He had one of the best minds the world had ever seen, yet the concept of love continued to baffle him, whether it was real or not. His eyes landed on Mary and John, and he thought he had hope in believing in love, but then Mary was killed. Sherlock learned John cheated on Mary while she was feeding Rosie. A couple of texts and some shared smilies constituted as cheating, apparently. The concept of love never failed to baffle him.

He morbidly sighed. Relationships were so bloody _complicated_. It seemed so time-consuming. So now, he didn't know whether to believe in love. It needn't concern him though, because he assumed he'd never be in love.

She fantasized about her happily ever after multiple times, most of them having to do with Sherlock, of course. But now, she wasn't so sure. She believed in love, she'd _never_ stop believing in that, but she doesn't know if she can believe in love in relation to Sherlock Holmes. It had taken a while for her to realize that she was nothing more than an experiment to him, and if he had to play with her emotions to do so, then it wouldn't be a problem.

She frowned like a kicked puppy. Relationships took out all of her energy. There were times when she wished she didn't believe in love so she wouldn't feel hurt in the end like she always was. But she always knew she would be in love.

Molly was shy and sensitive, ever the timid mouse.

Sherlock was blunt and cold, ever the sociopath.

However, the two began to undergo a change. While Molly remained sweet, she grew confidence, and while Sherlock remained stoic, he proved that he had a heart. He was still bloody arrogant, but she finally grew tired of it. She had that shyness, but he wanted to push her to stand up for herself. But what can we deduce about the other?

They were too different, way too different. It took a while for Sherlock to form friendships, which he still has trouble with. What made Molly think there was a chance of a relationship? And although Molly had grown more confident within herself, there are times when she just had to step back, for good.

Neither of them fully understood the concept of love, but they would eventually learn it together.

First and foremost, we start directly after the events of the Final Problem. Euros is back in Sherrinford, John Watson was saved, Mycroft is _traumatized_, and Sherlock was quiet, his mind racing as per usual.

The flat was being cleaned up. The two Baker Street Boys couldn't think. Understandable, of course. It's not every day the sister you found out about tries to kill you and destroys the place. Sherlock found the floor fascinating. His hands were folded in front of him as his eyes were glued to the floor. John didn't speak much each other, coddling baby Rosie whilst being stuck in his own thoughts. They had their own ways of grieving, John was grieving over his wife, understandably, it was something that was never going to completely go away. Sherlock, on the other hand, was grieving over someone whom he never known he'd lost, which was his sister.

As for Mycroft, he already had lost his sister, long ago. And potentially, he lost Sherlock for good.

And Sherlock... he may have potentially lost someone that he didn't realize he wanted up until things were up at stake, only to find out that it was a test, and nothing was ever at stake. Something that was beginning to haunt him at this moment more than anything.

"Are you okay?" John had asked him, but Sherlock began plucking his violin, deep in thought. He always was. John couldn't say he was more than surprised. Sherlock could go long periods of time without saying a word. "Sherlock..."

"Are _you_?" Sherlock retorted, snapping at the army doctor. It was a rhetorical question. No one was okay, and no one would be for a very long time.

* * *

A month and a half after the incident, Molly Hooper smiled at her boyfriend of four weeks, almost a month. Noah, she decided, made a great significant other, even after a mere two weeks. Besides, what was not to like about Noah? He was charming, loveable, breathtakingly gorgeous, tall, and... oh she could go on, really. Noah wasn't _bland_ by any sense, he was a quiet individual who was more on the sensitive side, much like her. Molly adored romance novels and movies, and Noah had no problem watching them, or at least _pretending _to like them. Molly really hoped it wasn't the latter, she liked the idea of a man not falling into a stereotype that they weren't romantics.

In retrospect, this probably said more about her than the men she chose to associate with.

Their eyes separate from the romantic movie they watch just for a minute. She smiled at him, as he smiled at her. Molly liked to think that they already had a special connection. That he was the _one_. Molly couldn't attest to fairy tales, but she'd always dream of having her own one. Little did she know, she fell into this pattern... this trope of falling for someone. And when she fell for someone, she fell for them hard, or so she'd like to think.

_I love him..._

_Or..._

_Perhaps it's someone else?_

She'd never let her mind go to the name of this "someone else," but you can make your deduction of who this "someone else" could be.

"Molly, love," Noah said, smiling.

She felt chills on her neck whenever he'd call her Love. "Yes?"

His smile widened. "You're amazing."

Molly blushed violently. "Am I?"

"The best," he agreed, and he leaned in for a kiss. Molly gave in to it, feeling her body loosen up against his. Neither of them was watching the movie, caught up in the moment of the kiss that unexpectedly turned into something more. He cupped her face gently, running his fingers through her hair. Molly smiled against his kisses, finding it endearing, exciting, and romantic at the same time. Her mind was screaming for more as she began to let her hands explore his chest. She was enjoying it, but suddenly, her excitement was obliterated as one word... no, one _name_ did enter her mind.

_Sherlock._

She immediately pulled away from him, her eyes wide as the name hit her like a truck. The name she swore to never mention.

"Molly, are you alright? What's wrong?" Noah asked concernedly, his brows furrowing. "Did I do something wrong?"

_No, it's what I did wrong._ Is what she wanted to say, but it would've raised questions. How could she even think about Sherlock when she was making out with her _actual_ boyfriend? This wasn't some fantasy anymore. Why can't she give attention to the men that actually appreciate her? Noah is one of them, after all. "No, um..." she stammered, biting her lower lip. Not good. _Very_ not good. "I'm just a little tired and all." She was telling the truth. Part of it, at least. "I didn't get much sleep."

Not a total lie if you're leaving out most of the truth, right?

Luckily, Noah was very easygoing and a bit naive, so he bought it. "Oh alright, I understand." They get back to their movie, with Noah's arm protectively over Molly's shoulders. Instinctively, Molly leaned into his side hugging him back. She was fortunate that he could not see her face of fright of what had just happened. She scowled to herself. Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock _bloody_ Holmes. She hasn't talked to him since... that day. Ever since that day, she hadn't received a text, a phone call... nothing. They haven't even spoken in person for god knows how long, even when they were working at Barts.

That conversation meant nothing.

Ugh. Sherlock _bloody_ Holmes. He was going to be the death of her.

* * *

"_Bored_," Sherlock's voice rang out to no one but himself. John was out somewhere with Rosie, which left Sherlock alone in his flat. No cases, no experiments, _nothing_. He's ready to claw his eyes out. He said, this time, a bit louder: "_Bored_!" He cursed himself; like that was going to do anything. He was determined _not_ to think about Molly Hooper, yet here he was. He was drowning in sentiment, it made him sick. He flipped over on his stomach on the couch and covered a pillow over his head; drowning out the silence.

"Oh, dear..." A familiar voice said in the distance. Sherlock groaned even louder and shifted positions. "Sherlock... have you and John had another domestic?"

He turned away from the couch to see Mrs. Hudson standing over him. "No, Mrs. Hudson. He went out with Rosie. _Sentiment_." Ugh, sentiment really made his stomach turn, especially now.

Mrs. Hudson tutted over him. "Dear, don't act like you haven't changed a bit since... you know."

"I haven't," Sherlock said grouchily. "I'm just annoyed."

There are times like this that make Mrs. Hudson think he's still a child. Nonetheless, she sat down in the opposite chair beside him. "It's funny... you know who I ran into the other day?"

He didn't know, and he really didn't care.

Mrs. Hudson took this as a sign to continue. "I saw Molly Hooper getting groceries."

Ugh, and there was the _source_ of all his problems. Sherlock immediately groaned and turned back to face the couch, covering his head with the pillow like he was doing moments before. "And?"

She sighed, knowing that the two haven't spoken. "You have to talk to her sometime, she is your friend."

Sherlock was less than impressed. "She hasn't spoken to _me_."

"Well, why don't you talk to her? I'm sure you miss her and she misses you too." If only Mrs. Hudson could see the detective roll his eyes. He couldn't have rolled them any harder if he'd try. Ugh, bloody _sentiment_. Mrs. Hudson smiled. "She looked quite happy when I spoke to her... Apparently there's a new man in her life."

Sherlock immediately sat up straight. "_What_?" He said sharply, turning around to face Mrs. Hudson. "What do you mean?"

Mrs. Hudson smiled wider, noticing that got his attention fairly quickly. "Oh yes... what a nice young man. Very sweet, too. They've been together for about a month. They're lovely together, really." Her face became solemn suddenly, sighing. "It's such a shame she doesn't come here anymore like she used to."

Sherlock's eyebrows rose considerably at that.

Molly Hooper? Boyfriend?

...Oh.

Sherlock cursed himself. How could he _not_ have deduced that? Was this really what happened when he tried to not be thinking about or looking at Molly Hooper? Did she really insist on edging her way into his brain like an earworm? God... stupid foolish girl. It was for a case. There's no sentiment behind it at all. None. Absolutely none. But why did he care so much? No, wait. He only cared that his deduction skills weren't so intact. Surely it was because of that. Yes, of course. Had nothing to do with the fact that Molly seemingly moved on.

Right.

Sherlock buried his face in the pillow once more.

Molly Hooper was going to kill him one day.

* * *

They were going to talk.

Eventually.

It was inevitable.

Molly didn't think Sherlock would be the one to start it.

He didn't, either.

It's funny how these things happen.

Sherlock was in the lab, as usual. Molly had come downstairs for whatever reason. He had acknowledged her presence briefly with a look before getting back to his own work. Molly, however, pretended he wasn't even there. She couldn't face him after she imagined making out with him as she was making out with Noah. It was... oh god... it was like she was _cheating_.

Was she?

Oh god...

Anyway, she expected that she and Sherlock were going to communicate eventually. And while she didn't remember exactly what his first words would be to her, she knew what she didn't expect him to say.

"So how's your new boyfriend doing?"

Molly nearly gaped at him. He had said that so casually as if he wanted to make small talk. He _hated_ small talk. Although she shouldn't be surprised that he deduced about her boyfriend - even though he didn't - but it doesn't mean she wasn't flabbergasted.

"Wh-what?" Molly managed to say, horrified. "How did-"

"Though I wouldn't say he's 'new' I would think that it's been a month now, hasn't it?" Sherlock looked at her closely. _She hasn't worn that shade of lipstick before..._ "Judging by the way you're wearing more makeup and the fact that you're more confident-"

"_Stop it_," Molly finally said, she stood her ground. "You... you don't speak to me for a month and that's the first thing you say?"

Sherlock rolled those damn eyes of his. "What else am I supposed to say?"

Molly couldn't help but be even more annoyed. "Oh, how about, 'Hey, I'm sorry for dropping a huge bombshell on you by saying that I love you even though I really don't.' Or maybe..." She's searched for the right words, growing angrier. "Or maybe you can at least _try_ to be nice to me, considering everything..."

"You didn't answer my question. How _is_ your boyfriend?" Sherlock asked curiously. Not that he cared, anyway.

Molly crossed her arms. "I don't see how that's any of your business," she retorted. Sherlock knew that she was able to see through his bullshit. She wasn't as timid as she once was. It didn't mean moments like these annoyed him any less.

"Fine," he said shortly, eyeing her closely. "Be that way." Molly scoffed, he was such a child.

"If you must know, his name is Noah. He works in IT-"

"Oh, _that_ sounds familiar."

Molly glared at him warningly. "Sherlock..."

"Are you sure he's not another criminal mastermind that I'm going to have to save you from again?" Sherlock questioned, with a hint of roughness. "No, I'm serious, because Jim from IT sounded positively bright and charming-"

"_Stop it,_" she warned again, her voice on edge. "Just... _stop it._"

Unfortunately, Sherlock failed to follow simple instructions. The rules don't apply to him, they never did. "I'm just trying to save you from future heartbreak, Molly. You know what happened last time, and the time before that, and the time before-"

_SLAP!_

Sherlock never finished his sentence as Molly had slapped him across the face as she did once before. Except, this time, he could really feel it. He was high last time, this time he was fully aware. He was speechless as he brought up his hand to his stinging face in shock of what she had done.

"I have you _know_," Molly spat starting off, her eyes red and dangerous. "That _you_ were the one that caused the most heartbreak. And if you think for a _second_ that you can just waltz in here as nothing happened, ask about my love life, and belittle him without even knowing him, then you're _wrong_."

Sherlock grew very cold. "Excuse me? You're the one who's always spoken to me first. If anything, you're the one to blame here."

Molly couldn't believe her ears. "Maybe I'm the one that's tired of initiating a friendship with you. Maybe instead of manipulating me and using me for an experiment, you could actually do something nice for me, considering after everything I've ever done for you."

Why was she surprised? It was just like him. It was just like him to place the blame on someone else, to not take responsibility for his own actions.

He wanted to say it wasn't an experiment, that it was something much more but decided against it. "No, do you see what you're doing now? If anything you're the one being entitled in this situation," he says coldly, looking away from her at last. "Now, I need to work."

"No," Molly said sharply. "You don't get to stop the conversation after you started this mess."

He looked at her again, narrowing his icy blue eyes at her. "You know what," he started off, beginning to lose his control. "Something you need to realize, Molly, is that all of your past relationships have one thing in common. They all fail in the end. I've said it once, and I'll say it again; avoid any other future attempts of a relationship Molly, it doesn't suit you."

_SLAP!_

Apparently, Sherlock didn't learn from the first slap, so Molly slapped him again. He didn't stop her. He sat by and took it.

"You have no idea what it's like!" Molly snapped, finally losing her temper for good. "You don't know what love means, or what it means to be in a relationship because you are _still_ the cold-hearted man I met all those years ago! I keep thinking that you've changed, but you haven't! Not one bit! The number of times I said to myself, 'Maybe Sherlock is misunderstood,' is insane."

His anger subsided as he noticed Molly was breathing heavily, her anger and control out of her hands. He felt something shift in his stomach that felt like guilt, but he would never admit that to any living soul in his life. His eyes were down to the floor, feeling the shame flood within him.

Molly took a step back. She wasn't finished just yet. "You really are a sociopath, Sherlock Holmes," she said softly, shaking her head. Immediately, Sherlock's head snapped up to face Molly, who was on the brim of tears. "You really are. You've manipulated so many people to get what you want. How do you think that makes me feel?"

Sherlock didn't know what to say. "I..."

"I need to go now," she interrupted, gathering her things. "I shouldn't have come down here, so..." She scratched the back of her head in distress. Sighing a bit, she left the room, closing the door behind her with a _click_.

Sherlock could only watch her go as the guilt plagued him.


	3. Emotional Context

A/N: Wow! Thank you to those who reviewed/favorited/followed! I really appreciate it. Don't be afraid to review and give constructive criticism, because reviews to me are like oxygen. As a writer, I need it to live.

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**Chapter 3- Emotional Context**

John was playing with baby Rosie, putting a small flower in her hair like he had done many times before. She giggled joyfully, and John couldn't help but give a faint smile at that. Mary would love to make Rosie laugh, her little giggles remind her that of innocence. Times like these made John realize that Mary wasn't going to be around for these moments. The moments where Rosie would laugh, the times where Rosie would cry and need a woman's advice. How was he supposed to help her through this?

Sometimes, there were days where John wasn't all there. It was like a massive fog in his brain, something he couldn't comprehend. But then the nightmares plague him throughout the night of what had happened to Mary. He could only imagine the bullet going through her chest and how he just arrived, how he could only watch helplessly as his wife died before his very eyes. He had seen people die before, but never like this. She speaks to him, she's coughing up blood, what is it? A dying request? Or-

_SLAM!_

John jumped up in fright, thinking that was the gunshot. It wasn't until he heard two familiar voices bickering downstairs.

"Oh for _god's _sake! Do you insist on watching me everywhere I go?"

That was Sherlock's voice and it definitely sounded like he was speaking to Mycroft as soon as he mentioned someone watching him.

Alas, John was right as Mycroft's voice followed. "Just keeping tabs on you as always... considering what happened in Sherrinford." Nothing was said next as Sherlock stomped up the stairs, and it appeared Mycroft was following him. John's eyes went wide at the strong red mark on the left side of Sherlock's face. Mycroft definitely wouldn't have slapped him, but who would? Okay, that in itself is a bad question, since there are many people who would love to slap him.

"Good evening, Mycroft," John said casually to the elder Holmes, before casting his eyes back on the younger. "What happened to your face?"

Sherlock rubbed his face, clearly still in shock. "Nothing bad... I suppose." His eyes went to his brother. "I was still working on an experiment did you have to bother me now and see _that_?"

"See what?" inquired John.

"It's nothing," Sherlock quickly said.

"A little bit of an altercation with Miss Hooper..." Mycroft Holmes leaned against his umbrella, his brows furrowed at the sight of his brother. "Do try not to get yourself slapped around little brother, your mouth has always been too quick for your brain."

"Shut up, Mycroft," grumbled Sherlock.

John couldn't hold back his amusement. "Molly _slapped_ you? Again?" He faltered for a moment before realizing something else that came with this. "And wait, that must've meant that you both spoke after Sherrinford."

"Yes thank you for your input," Sherlock said sardonically while his voice dripped with sarcasm. "I don't see how that matters."

John's eyes went wide. "Of course it matters! Molly is your friend. You even said... you even said that you loved her. Unless..." If possible, his eyes grew wider in realization. Again, he couldn't help but smirk a bit. "Do you-"

"_No_," Sherlock immediately interrupted, cutting him off. "I thought I was saving her. That's the only reason why I had to say that."

John's smirk grew wider. "You didn't need to say it twice." He points this out knowingly.

For the first time in his life, Sherlock didn't have an argument against that. He didn't need to say it twice; once was just enough. Molly should've been able to say it back after one time, right? Then he miraculously came to the conclusion that he had he known Eurus' true intentions he wouldn't have had to say those three damned words at all. The question is, would he take it back? Yes, to avoid it being brought up again. But as to how he felt... that is debatable.

"Shut up, John," Sherlock snarled, the only thing he could think of saying. "There was no sentiment behind it." But there was...

"Your emotions were there, little brother..." Mycroft said, almost earnestly. "And the way you reacted afterward."

"Oh, _you're_ one to talk about emotions, brother mine," Sherlock retorted irritably. "_Caring is not an advantage_," he mocked, but sometimes, maybe it is.

Mycroft always said caring wasn't an advantage, meanwhile, he cared about Sherlock for as long as he could remember. He cared very strongly, too. So when he saw and heard the way Sherlock reacted with Molly during his little sister's twisted little game, he knew Sherlock was more broken and felt things stronger than he realized. Potentially, he may have lost his younger brother, but he'd like to think he could hang on a thread for a little longer. He knew it would take some time, that Sherlock was still angry at the world, angry at Eurus, and especially angry at him, but Mycroft holds on to the hope that one day Sherlock will appreciate him like he used to.

Somewhere, in his heart, Sherlock never stopped loving his brother.

Somewhere, in his heart, he may even like Molly.

His heart stopped.

Wait...

_What_?

He felt his world go silent. He would have to fix that. John and Mycroft were staring at him like he were an alien. "Piss off, the both of you," Sherlock snapped after a while. He groaned and turned away from them. This sentiment was getting to be too much for him to handle. Mycroft sighed in disappointment, heading out.

But before he did, he says this: "Think it over, brother mine." And then he left.

This time, John gets up too. Sherlock watches him. "Where are you going?"

"You told me to piss off, didn't you?" John retaliated, not harshly, but firmly. "I'll be back soon, don't burn down the flat." He picked up Rosie and left as well. Sherlock was left alone with his lingering thoughts. He snorted. _Liking Molly Hooper..._

Absolutely not.

* * *

Molly's eyes were still stinging with tears after her and Sherlock's confrontation. It just hurt her too much after so many years. After she was done working, she called Noah to go to her house, that she was having a bad day and she needed some comfort from him. Noah, being the gentleman that he was, came over, of course. Molly collapsed on her couch, tears streaming down her face. Noah joined her, watching her with sympathy.

"He's such a git, I hate him," Molly sniffled, leaning into her boyfriend for support. "I really do."

Noah sighed, putting his arm around her. "I can only assume this is about Sherlock." It always was. Noah knew most of the story of what had happened, at least Molly's side of it, of course. In her version, Sherlock had toyed with her emotions, manipulated her, making her say "I love you," and never bothered to speak to her afterward. Molly did reassure Noah that she was over Sherlock for good, though one could argue that was debatable.

Molly pretended to be shocked that he knew. "How do you know?"

"Molly, you barely talk badly about just anyone," Noah reminded her. "It has to be about him."

"It is," Molly allowed, sniffling more. "I ran into him and he asked about you. He just randomly deduced about you." He hadn't, but she did not know that. "It's something he's always done, belittled any relationship I was in... he makes me so angry I could just scream." She needn't mention the part of imagining Sherlock Holmes when she was making out with Noah, that would _not_ go well. It was bad enough that she was talking about her former love in front of her boyfriend, she could only imagine how he must feel.

"I'm sorry, Molly," Noah said earnestly, pecking her on the cheek. "At least you have me, though."

She smiled at him, a sad one. "I do..." She paused, kissing him back on the cheek. "Thank you."

Roughly thirty minutes passed with them cuddling before Molly heard three knocks on the door. Frowning in curiosity, Molly got up from her position to see who it was. Noah quirked a curious eyebrow at this. She turned to face her boyfriend before she answered. "I don't know who it is."

"Do you think it's him?"

"No," Molly said right away. "Sherlock doesn't _do_ apologies." Not entirely true. Several years ago he did apologize to her during a Christmas party. Oh, she remembered, after he publically humiliated her in front of her friends. Molly would forgive, but she definitely didn't forget. Sighing, she opened the door to see not Sherlock, but his best friend, John Watson, with baby Rosie.

"John," she marveled, surprised. Her eyes go to baby Rosie. "Hi, Rosie!" She says, much more cheerfully. Instinctually, like she had done many times before, took Rosie out of John's arms and held her. She still took note of John, realizing why he must be here. She was right, Sherlock did not do apologies at all, so he must've sent out his best friend to do it for him. "So you must've heard of what happened today. Look, I don't know what he told you, but I refuse to talk to him anymore... he could've been mature about the whole situation-"

"Can I come in?" John interrupted lightly.

"I have company," Molly said, not rudely but factually. She stepped to the side to reveal Noah. "Noah, this is John Watson, and this is his baby girl, Rosie. John, this is my boyfriend, Noah."

"Oh, that's the friend?" Noah questioned. John blinked twice. Apparently Molly had seemingly moved on from the situation in Sherrinford. He didn't know how she did it, finding someone that quickly.

"Yes," Molly supplied. She turned back to John with a smile. "We'd been dating for almost a month now. What do you need John?" John couldn't help but feel a little odd about this revelation. He had expected a lot of things, but this wasn't one of them.

"Look," John started off seriously. "I know what he probably did was rude... and that it was justified to slap him, but... you two can't keep avoiding each other forever. Are you both really going to destroy your friendship over this?

Molly scoffed. "I knew it."

"What?"

"I knew that's why you came here."

John was appalled. "Molly you wouldn't throw away your friendship with Sherlock over this..."

Molly narrowed her eyes. "_What_ friendship? Was there even a friendship to begin with?"

"What?! Of course there was!" John exclaimed. "Why wouldn't it be?!"

"I'm not so sure about that," Molly said angrily. "John... I'm so tired of him. He has manipulated me, treated me horribly, taken advantage of my kindness so many times... there's only so much I can take."

John was horrified by this, naturally. "Molly, this isn't you..."

Molly raised a brow. "Is it?"

John found himself growing a bit annoyed. "Do you want to know what _really_ happened?" _No, no, no_! John realized it wasn't his place to say this. Molly had no business knowing this, yet he couldn't stop himself. He continued speaking, not even thinking about it. "The day Sherlock made you say 'I love you?' Do you want to know _why_ he had to say it?"

Beat.

Molly swallowed a lump in her throat. "He said it was an experiment. I'm _not_ an experiment."

"No you're not an experiment," John agreed. "But... do you even know what happened?" Stop now! His mind was screaming at him. This was sensitive information that he was sharing. "Sherlock has a younger sister he didn't remember." Molly's eyes went wide with surprise, yet didn't interrupt him. "She's psychotic and was locked away in a facility." Stop, John, stop! "It turns out she manipulated everyone in that facility and trapped him, his brother, and me in a psychological game. His sister told him that your flat was rigged with bombs and in order to save you, he had to get you to say those three words! It turns out, she lied, because she knew it'd mess with his feelings. And do you know how hurt he was after that? Do you? Went completely mental."

Molly went still. There were many things she learned from John's speech. Firstly, she knew information about Sherlock that she did not need to know. John would only be telling her this if he was absolutely serious about them becoming friends again. Two, he never actually meant saying 'I love you,' only saying that so she could say it back, that it was honestly part of a game. Three, the thought of Sherlock going mental over three words said more about him than anything else because he probably wasn't used to saying that about anyone. It must've hurt. Her heart was breaking at the thought but quickly brushed it aside of what she got in all of this.

"So it never actually meant anything..." Molly said softly after a while. "It technically was part of an experiment. Not by Sherlock, but by his sister."

John sighed. When she put it that way, it sounded very harsh. "Yes. Yes, Molly, I'm sorry, but trust me, you mean so much to-"

"No," Molly cut in sharply, not having any of it. "Don't do this. You're _not_ the one that should be apologizing for him." He handed Rosie back to John, crossing her arms assertively. "If I really mean that much to him, he'd come here himself."

John's look was pleading. "Molly..."

"No," She says it, but it sounds weaker. She feels bad for him. "He has to come to apologize to me. He needs to take responsibility. You shouldn't have had to explain this to me. He should be doing this, not you." She did have a point, John knew that much. Her face softened at his hurt expression. "Look, John, I'm not mad at you. You'll always be my friend. You've always been kind to me. But Sherlock needs to understand that he can't keep taking advantage of my help. I'm sick of constantly forgiving him and being nice to him when he doesn't deserve it. He has to earn that forgiveness."

"You're right," John said slowly. "He didn't send me here, by the way. But... I think he does feel bad."

Molly's heart melted. "Right..." Damn it, she'd always have a soft spot for Sherlock. "Makes sure he knows that though."

"I'll pass the word on," John said, sighing in defeat. "You can always talk to me Molly, you know that right?"

She smiled sadly at him. "Of course. Thank you." She gives a little friendly wave to Rosie before the two depart. Now alone with Noah, she sits down next to him and kisses him for a full ten seconds before letting go. "I love you," she whispered in his ear.

But it didn't feel right. She loved someone else...

Noah chuckled a little, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. "I love you too. Honestly, how do you handle all this chaos?"

Molly shrugged, sighing. "I don't know." Her mind wandered off for the rest of the night, the thought consistently about a certain detective.

She loved someone else, that's for sure.


	4. High On Life

A/N: Thank you again for the new reviews/favorites/follows. It really keeps me going. I'm sorry I haven't been writing as much as of lately. I've been writing my own original high school novel, and I'm also taking a winter college course, so I pretty much have my hands full. No worries, though, I _will_ get through this story.

Reviews make me happy, please don't hesitate to give out constructive criticism!

* * *

**Chapter 4- High On Life**

Sherlock felt a tingling sensation throughout his body, and he did not like it. He didn't like it because he looked so unsure, and like Eurus had said, he wasn't used to being unsure. He was sitting on his bed but felt as if he was floating on a cloud, while the tingling sensation continued to soar through him. This wasn't like drugs or anything like that... it was unnatural, for him. It _could_ be a drug, but he knew it wasn't.

A rustling sound came from outside, startling him. The sound is getting closer and closer before he realized the source of the noise. A woman — without a face, but with a small build — had climbed into his flat via a window. Sherlock blinked at the faceless woman, he would argue and say it would be impossible for her to climb with the number of stories high... but he couldn't.

Suddenly, the woman draped herself in front of Sherlock. She pressed her hands against his bare chest, as she began to kiss his neck tenderly. Sherlock, shocked at first, eventually gave into it. Closing his eyes in pleasure as she began to work her way up, starting from kissing his neck, to his cheeks, to his eyes, and eventually — her lips — connecting with his.

The sensation was odd... but he found out soon enough that he did like it. He began to kiss her back just as tenderly, if not more so. When they pulled away to breathe, he opened his eyes. He smiled at who it was. Her hair in a brown mid-ponytail, wearing a white t-shirt with black sweats instead of her usual lab coat. She smiled back at him, her brown eyes gazing lovingly at his.

"Hi," the woman finally said, with the shyness that she _used_ to have. But times have changed.

This was a different sort of thrill. Sherlock liked it. "Molly Hooper..." Molly put her finger to Sherlock's lips, her way of telling him to be quiet as she removed it so she could kiss those warm lips again. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and Sherlock found himself embracing her as he supported her back while she kissed him, and he reciprocated with passion. His delicate hands move up—running his hands through her hair. When they let go, and finally look at each other.

"Sherlock?"

Funnily enough, that wasn't Molly's voice, however, her lips continued to move. "_Sherlock_?"

What on _earth_ was happening?

"Sherlock!"

Finally, Sherlock woke up, alarmed and unaware of his surroundings. "_What_?"

"Sherlock..." The voice repeated again, a little softer. Sherlock finally looked at the person who had said this, which was his best friend, John Watson, who was now looking at him in concern. "Sherlock, you've fallen asleep. It looked like you were dreaming, are you alright?"

Dreaming?

Oh... Was _that_ what that was?

Sherlock looked around. He was on the couch, he must've fallen asleep... He was at 221b Baker Street. Everything was normal. Or was it? Oh god...

"I don't have dreams," Sherlock snapped coldly, finally get up from the couch. John sighed as he watched him. Sherlock took notice. "Why are you still here?"

"I went to see Molly Hooper," John said casually.

Sherlock's heart nearly stopped.

_Shit_.

"Anything interesting?" pressed Sherlock, though he sounded as if everything about Molly Hooper was mundane and dull, except this dream proved she was anything but. He still doesn't know what possessed him to have _such_ a dream. God, these things were so bloody _complicated_. Does John know about the dream? Oh god, maybe he was becoming better at his deduction.

"She's alright. But..." Ah, of course, he wasn't becoming better. Sherlock should've known better. "You need to apologize to her," John said seriously. Sherlock glared at him yet said nothing. "I mean it, Sherlock. Don't act like this isn't bothering you."

"It _isn't_," Sherlock insisted harshly, though he knew he was right. Damn it, maybe he was doing better. Or he wasn't. He was? Oh god, he needed to stop flip-flopping. He hadn't been this way up until that blasted phone call. John could only stare at him doubtfully. "What?! It isn't."

"...You were mumbling Molly's name in your sleep."

_Double shit._

Sherlock waved it off carelessly. "No I wasn't, don't be _ridiculous_."

So in the dream, they kissed, but they didn't kiss in real life, but what does it mean? Obviously it means he was thinking about her, and he was determined to not be thinking of her, but why did he continue to think about her? Frankly, she didn't even want to be around him. She made that evidently clear when she slapped him.

"Either way, you should apologize, it's the right thing to do..."

So maybe they didn't need to kiss in reality.

"...Molly has been by your side for too long, and you're just going to let her get away?"

That was fine.

Really.

"...Oh and another thing; please be mindful of the fact that other people have feelings. I would've thought you realized that when we were in Sherrinford... but apparently you haven't learned, or you wouldn't be acting this way..."

It didn't bother him.

...Not at all.

"...Please, for the love of _God_, Sherlock. Molly is human, just like you — yes, Sherlock, even _you're_ human, no matter how much you deny it — and she's always been there for you before, and I know you care about her... so don't throw this all away..."

Sherlock snorted at his thoughts. _Sentiment..._

"Sherlock, are you even _listening_ to me?" Sherlock woke up from his thoughts, now noticing that John had been trying to speak to him. John facepalmed as he began to pace around the flat. Sherlock was getting dizzy watching him. "I mean it, Sherlock. Make this right."

_Make this right_, John had said. John was right. Sherlock knew he should make this right; he had _hurt_ her. Unintentionally, but he nonetheless did. He had to apologize at least. Also, though he refused to admit it aloud, he _missed_ her. Why did he miss her? Because he was _human,_ which was another thing he refused to admit out loud. Another thing was - and maybe he would admit this aloud one day - he felt unnaturally guilty for it.

Also, he needed to understand this dream he had which involved Molly. Why didn't she have a face at first? And why and - more importantly - how did it turn out to be _Molly_?

But most of all, he did _truly_ miss her.

He missed the way she'd stroll into the lab, with that lab coat of hers and wondering whether or not she'd put on lipstick. (She wasn't wearing lipstick before...) He missed the way she smiled at him, he never knew a smile could really make someone's day, and without her smile, Sherlock felt somewhat incomplete, that he really couldn't go on with his work unless he saw that smile of hers. On those occasions, he'd usually smile back at her, and when he did, her eyes would light up. He missed the way she asked if she wanted coffee - she was so infuriatingly polite, but lovely nonetheless - and he would ask for coffee (black, two sugars, please) and later on when their friendship developed, they did have coffee together.

Thinking about all of this, Sherlock did have the intention of going to apologize to Molly. He was going to go to her flat tonight.

...He would go tomorrow.

His head hurt.

Sherlock collapsed back on the couch. "I'll go apologize to her tomorrow, at St. Barts..." And maybe there was hope.

* * *

He had another dream.

Another. Bloody. Dream.

This time, however, it seemed more real. Not to mention, it was more explicit.

It was about Molly Hooper.

Again.

...God fucking damn it.

Sherlock glanced at the clock. It was seven-thirty in the morning. He sighed in annoyance; he might as well get ready to go. He had a lot to do today, and apologizing to Molly Hooper happened to be one of them.

Ugh. He was awful with apologies. Most of the time they were meaningless, but this had to be full of _meaning_. Molly would never be friends with him again unless she felt he meant it. That's just who Molly was. That's exactly what happened at Sherrinford. (Say it like you mean it) Now, it was harder, because it was going to be in person.

Just when he thought his day - which technically didn't start yet - couldn't get any worse, his phone begins to ring. The caller ID? Mycroft Holmes.

Fuck it all.

Nonetheless, Sherlock answers: "Brother mine, this better be good."

"You haven't been sleeping well, have you?"

Beat.

Not good.

"What business is that of _yours_?" Sherlock snapped irritably, not bothering to ask how he found out. John probably mentioned it to him. This just wasn't a great start to the day.

"Dr. Watson says you've been mumbling in your sleep," Mycroft said over the phone. Sherlock gritted his teeth in anger. John bloody mentioned it to him. Of course. He could hear the condescension in his older brother's voice. The rat bastard. "Miss Hooper's name, apparently."

Fucking hell John. You couldn't _not_ tell Mycroft this? "He's full of rubbish. You know I don't have sentiment..."

"But you do."

"I don't."

"You _do_."

"I _don't_."

The bickering between the two brothers fell, the only sound that could be heard was Sherlock's angry breathing.

"Your subconscious is trying to tell you something," Mycroft continued. "You _miss_ her."

"Piss off, Mycroft."

"Let me take a guess... are these dreams," Mycroft paused, hesitating for only a second. "...intimate?"

"I said piss off!" Sherlock roared, only confirming his brother's point. He hung up the phone in a rage. His brother was an arse. Sherlock began to pace back and forth in a rage.

"Arrogant arsehole, minor government official _prick_-"

"A fight with your brother?" A new voice entered Sherlock's room, revealing John. "This early?"

Sherlock did not want to see John right now. "You _told_ him?"

John's face faltered only slightly. "I was worried. I know you're not normally all sunshine and rainbows..." Sherlock snorted as John continued. "...but this is _different_."

"How so?"

"You _know_ it is," John said, glaring at him.

"Oh piss off," snapped Sherlock, slamming the door in John's face.

John sighed. "Well good morning to you too..."

* * *

Molly Hooper wondered how she could be cheery most of the time. Her job consisted of looking at dead bodies, which was god-awful. She didn't have that many friends. Caroline was one of her closest friends, but she had left years ago. Molly had no regrets when it came to Caroline. Mary _had_ been one of her friends, but then she died. She thought Sherlock was one of her friends, but it's possible he never was. John was her only true friend, but still, he had Sherlock. The same goes for Mrs. Hudson, though she wasn't a friend, she was more of a motherly figure.

Yes, she did have a boyfriend. Noah, whom she was incredibly grateful for, but he wasn't a _friend_.

_Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap._

Would she remain friendless?

_Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap._

She just could _not _concentrate on her work.

"Why are you nervous?" Molly didn't even have to turn around. She knew whose voice that belonged to; a voice she wasn't expecting to hear. It was soft, inquisitive, and concerned. She never thought the last word would ever be associated with Sherlock Holmes in regards to her, who was right behind her right now, at this very moment. Molly, nonetheless, turned around, coming face-to-face with her former friend. Or maybe he never _was_ a friend.

"I'm just thinking," she replied softly, her eyes unable to meet his.

If she thought it was difficult to look Sherlock in the eyes, it was a thousand times harder for Sherlock, especially after those two dreams he had. He honestly still couldn't figure out how or why those dreams happened, but he wasn't going to bring it up in front of her. Instead, he tried his best to remain eye contact, while finally saying: "I'm sorry." Molly's eyes snapped up to his abruptly that it nearly threw him off course. She was waiting. She wanted him to say more. Sherlock did so. "I'm sorry for telling you about your relationships. I'm sorry about saying 'I love you.'" Molly felt her stomach sink. "I'm sorry for making you feel like I was manipulating you... because I honestly wasn't. I care about you, Molly. You've always counted."

Molly Hooper always felt that she was unappreciated and it killed her inside.

She was stunned into silence.

"Molly?" Sherlock asked, frowning. "What is it?"

She almost couldn't speak.

Now Sherlock was getting worried. "Molly..."

"You know," Molly interrupted, not coldly, but firmly. She continued, holding eye contact fiercely: "I remembered when you told me that I counted. It was right before the fall, and you said you need my help."

Sherlock felt his stomach drop. She wasn't going to forgive him, was she? "Yes, I did... and I'm really grateful."

Molly held her hand up. "The reason why I helped you was not because of some crush, nor it was because I wanted you to like me..." She paused, hesitating for the smallest of seconds. "...but for the fact that you told me that I counted and that I mattered. This really helped our friendship, it's probably why it blossomed so well. That's the reason why I did it, because I thought we were becoming _friends_."

"We were always friends, Molly!" Sherlock exclaimed, and even Molly was taken aback by this sudden emotion. "This doesn't change anything. You've always counted, even when we didn't speak, I still would've protected you all over again if I could."

"Then why..." Molly started off, although she knew the reason why. "...Why did you say that you loved me when you didn't?"

A tense pause.

"On some level," started off Sherlock, not quite knowing what he was saying anymore. "I do love you." That gave Molly chills. "I do care about you in a way, I just... I don't know what's going on, I..." He began to pace erratically. "I thought I was saving you, I..."

"Your sister made you do it. She lied to you." It was out of Molly's mouth before she could stop it. Sherlock stopped pacing and stared at her. Molly looked like the old Molly, caught like a deer in the headlights. It was the epitome of fright.

"...John must've told you," Sherlock said softly, with a sigh. Molly could only nod. Sherlock sighed again and took a seat beside her. "Yes. Yes, she made me do it, but... you have to understand that I really was hurt by this. That I had to hurt you but... I really didn't mean to."

Sherlock Holmes was human and hated to admit it.

"You had no other choice," Molly said, sighing frustratedly. "Look... I'm not going to lie, I'm still angry with what happened the other day but, I forgive you. We should try and be friends again." Molly wondered if she would regret this decision.

Sherlock smiled, actually smiled genuinely, at her. "Thank you."

"I'm still pissed off," Molly reminded her, a glint of anger in her eyes. It was lovely, really.

His smile grew wider. "I understand."

Molly could only stare at Sherlock in awe. She definitely wouldn't regret it.

Damn him. Damn it all.

* * *

A/N: This isn't over quite yet! There are definitely more chapters coming up. As I said, this will be Sherlolly. So they're going to end up together soon. Stay tuned, and please review! :)


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